THE ALL VALLEY KING

Chapter 3: The Sudden Reprieve

The suspension was supposed to be two weeks, a forced timeout that left Alex feeling unmoored. But on the morning of the fourth day, as he restocked shelves at The Anchor, his phone buzzed with an email from Crestwood Academy. He glanced at it absentmindedly, expecting some form update or reminder. Instead, the subject line jolted him: "Suspension Lifted Effective Immediately."

Alex froze, the bottle of whiskey in his hand forgotten. He read the message twice, his pulse quickening. "Due to new evidence submitted anonymously and administrative review, your suspension has been rescinded. Report to classes tomorrow morning. See Headmaster Lang for details."

Anonymous evidence? After just three days? He was stunned, a mix of disbelief and wary relief washing over him. The video had been everywhere, clear as day. Who would step in now, and why hide? Blake's family wasn't the type to forgive; this smelled like interference from someone with real influence. But questioning it felt dangerous, like poking a sleeping bear. He pocketed his phone, his mind spinning with possibilities, and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Downstairs in the apartment, Mia was at the kitchen table, her cereal growing soggy as she buried herself in her notebook. At fourteen, she was a whirlwind of ambition, acing her classes at school and already plotting her future. Law, maybe politics, something that let her argue and win. She had their mom's fire, Dad always said, though memories of Elena were fuzzy for both of them. Mia clung to the stories, the photos, weaving them into her dreams. "I want to make a difference," she'd say, practicing debates in front of the mirror. Alex envied her certainty; it kept her going through the tough days.

"Mia," Alex said, dropping into the chair opposite her. "You won't believe this."

She looked up, her dark hair falling across her face as she pushed it back. Her eyes, sharp and curious, scanned the email. "Lifted already? That's wild! What kind of evidence?"

"No idea," he replied, shrugging. "Anonymous.

Maybe that kid I helped sent something in. Or a teacher finally grew a conscience."

Mia grinned, but there was a flicker of concern in her expression. She worried about him constantly, especially since the video went viral. "This is good, right? Back in the game early. But Alex, promise you'll watch your back. Blake's friends are snakes, and I saw Emma Valenti liking posts about the fight. She's... unpredictable."

Emma Valenti. The name sent a chill through him, but he brushed it off. "I'll be careful. How's your project going? The history one on political campaigns?"

Mia's face brightened. "It's coming along. I'm digging into this senator-turned-president, Daniel Whitmore. His rise is fascinating, started with nothing but smart moves and alliances. Kinda inspiring, you know? Makes me think anyone can climb if they're strategic."

Alex nodded, half-listening. Whitmore was just a name from the news to him, a distant figure in suits and speeches. Mia loved researching power players like that, drawing lessons for her own path. She didn't connect it to their family, and why would she? Their life was The Anchor, Dad's quiet routines, not Oval Office drama.

The next morning, returning to Crestwood felt like walking into a lion's den. Stares followed him through the manicured grounds, whispers buzzing like flies. He went straight to Lang's office, the headmaster's door creaking open to reveal the same cluttered desk and weary expression.

"Mr. Vincent," Lang said, not looking up from his paperwork. "The anonymous submission cleared things up. Harringtons are dropping it. Don't squander this."

Alex muttered thanks, still stunned by the turnaround. Classes dragged, the normalcy a thin veil over the tension. By afternoon, he drifted into the library for Academic Decathlon practice. Mia had hounded him about it. "You're quick with facts," she'd insisted. "It could open doors." With the early reprieve, he figured it was worth a shot.

The team was focused, buzzing through questions on everything from algebra to art history. Alex surprised himself, his answers flowing from late-night reads and bar trivia overheard from patrons.

"Question: What 19th-century novel features the character Heathcliff and explores themes of revenge and passion?"

"Wuthering Heights," Alex said, beating the others.

He kept scoring, his total climbing. When Ms. Hargrove announced the results, Alex had won the practice quiz. "Excellent work," she said, the team clapping. Stunned by the victory, he felt a rare spark of pride. He texted Mia: "Won the quiz thing. Blame you for the push."

Her response lit up his screen: "Yes! Knew you had it in you. Pizza tonight?"

The win buoyed him, but the day wasn't done testing him. As the bell rang, dismissing classes, a ruckus echoed from the gym hall. Alex's instincts screamed to ignore it, to honor his promise to Dad and stay clear. But the sounds drew him closer, and he peered around the corner.

Three lacrosse goons, led by Trent, Blake’s friend, had a wiry sophomore cornered. Books scattered, the kid's face pale with fear. "Admit you snitched on Blake," Trent growled, fist raised.

The sophomore shook his head. Trent swung.

Alex stepped in. "Back off."

Trent turned, smirking. "The prodigal thug returns. Mind your own, Vincent."

"Make it easy," Alex replied, voice level. "Walk away."

Trent charged. The brawl ignited, fists and fury in the narrow space. Alex dodged a haymaker, landing a solid hit to Trent's side. The others jumped in, grabbing and swinging. Alex shielded, Uncle Nico's drills guiding him: a knee to one gut, an elbow to another's chin. They tumbled, lockers denting under impacts. Blood trickled from Alex's brow, but he pinned Trent, holding him down until shouts of authority approached.

Teachers separated them, dragging the combatants apart. The sophomore slipped away, nodding gratitude. Trent cursed as he was led off. Alex wiped sweat and blood, regret settling in. Another fight, so soon after the last.

That evening at The Anchor, Mia tended his cuts with an ice pack and a lecture. "Three days back and you're at it again? What happened to laying low?"

"It escalated," Alex said, grimacing. "Won't repeat."

Dad said little when he arrived, just eyed the bruises and handed Alex a towel. "Learn from it," Richard murmured, his tone even. He didn't press, vanishing to handle bar duties shortly after. Alex wondered about the anonymous call that lifted the suspension. Dad's silence felt heavier than usual, like he knew more but chose not to share. But that was Dad, always guarding his thoughts.

As the night wore on, Alex lay in bed, the day's whirlwind replaying. Lifted suspension, quiz triumph, fresh brawl. The anonymous intervention nagged at him, a thread begging to be pulled. In the quiet, he thought of Mia's dreams, her innocent drive, and vowed to shield her from whatever shadows loomed.